Sand Creek

April 25, 2012
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We’re running for the finish line,
the end in sight,
just a few more hurdles,
just a few more.

And yet,
fatigue sets in,
and nobody’s watching,
so we pummel right through
the hurdles,
hurting our solid gold bodies.

The obstacles
we no longer jump over,
topple to the ground,
putting up an effort to sprain us,
when we could have worked mutually,
and won fairly,
in symbiosis.

We’re running,
our souls damaged,
but still running,
as we leave the pieces of plastic in the dust,
toward the finish line;
but this is only the beginning.





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